


As Heroes Fall

by felisblanco



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-03
Updated: 2004-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David's never been good at dealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Heroes Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for sex stuff almost turning ugly and a lot of angst over the real death of a real person. RIP Glenn Quinn.  
> Beta'd by [](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/profile)[**evilmaniclaugh**](http://evilmaniclaugh.livejournal.com/) *smooch*.

David's been gloomy all day. First James thinks it's nostalgic sadness, working with Charisma again, but they've been shooting this episode for three days now and it isn't until today that he notices the sagging shoulders, the sad smile. Off-camera of course, because David is nothing if not professional. But that makes it even more distressing. If there ever was a bouncy guy on set... No one can match David in pranks and just non-stop joking around.

Nobody except James seems to notice, though. They're all so high on working with CC again, little else is catching their attention. Maybe he’s the only one noticing because he doesn't really know her that well, after all he last saw her when they shot that whole torture episode. Or maybe it's because he has a habit of watching David. Like all the time. Can anyone blame him? That's why it torments him to see the big guy so miserable. He wants to walk over and give him a hug, asking him what's wrong. And get stared at like he's an absolute nutcase and be politely ignored the rest of the season. Not such a good idea. So instead he just keeps an eye on him, looking for hints to explain this melancholy, this sadness.

One of the perks of having moved the AI team to the W&H set are fewer late-nights shootings. It feels kinda strange though, after all those years on Buffy, usually working until dawn. Very few sun-scenes for the evil dead. But even so, he's exhausted when they finally wrap it up. The cast and crew quickly disperse, most to their houses and homes, some out to share a beer or two. Looking around he can't see David anywhere; he must have sneaked away unnoticed. With a small sigh, James heads for his trailer. Time for a change and a shower, before going home himself. Play a few tunes, maybe watch some porn. Or an Angel episode or two. Works just as well for him.

In the twilight, he almost doesn't notice David's car parked by his trailer. So he is still around. For a moment James stands looking at the sleek vehicle. Maybe he should just check in on the guy? Make sure he's all right. No hidden agenda, just being a pal, that's all. He sure looked like he needed one. They have shared some good times. It's only fair he shares the bad with him as well. If David tells him to get lost... well, no harm done, he'll just do that.

Taking a deep breath he walks over and knocks on the trailer-door. He can hear someone talking inside but when no one answers he turns away. Well, fuck it then. If the guy wants to be alone, let him. The loud crashing sound inside makes him jump and he swings around, nerves on edge. Jesus! What the hell is going on in there? Determined he walks back and bangs harder on the door.

"David? Are you ok?"

No answer, but through the open window he can hear the muffled voice again followed by some loud and slurred swearing. Damn, there’s no way he can walk away from this. Slowly he opens the door and goes inside. The smell of whiskey hits him hard and he looks down to see shreds of glass lying in a pool of liquid. The TV is flickering as a video is being rewound and he watches in fascination as it starts over again.

_"If you need help. Then look no further. Angel Investigations is the best! - Our rats are low."_

_"Our rates!"_

_"It says 'rats'. - Our rates are low, but our standards are high. When the chips are down, and you're at the end of your rope you need someone that you can count on. And that's what you'll find here - someone that will go all the way, no matter what. So don't lose hope. Come on over to our offices and you'll see that there's still heroes in this world... Is that it? Am I done?"_

Stop. Rewind. Play.

_"If you need...”_

Shit, he should have realized. Someone should have realized. He never knew the guy that well, but he'd heard him and David were pretty close. Even been some rumours, but then again, there always are. He knew the media had tried to get a statement out of David after it happened, fucking vultures, but he had always refused. And today they had been shooting that scene with the video – the one that’s being played over and over.

"Man, are you ok?"

No answer. If it weren’t for the occasional sip of whiskey from an almost empty bottle and the trembling hand clutching the remote, he’d think the man was asleep.

"David..."

Stop. Rewind. Play.

"David, this isn't healthy."

No answer.

"I know this is hard for you. Please, turn this thing off and let’s talk about this."

"No." Ok, at least he’s not gone deaf.

"How about giving me that bottle then?" He holds out his hand but in a childlike manoeuvre David cradles the whiskey in his arms, shaking his head stubbornly.

"No."

"David, please..."

"Stay out of my business, Marsters." The voice is cold and bitter. Blank eyes are fixated on the TV.

Stop. Rewind. Play.

Sighing, James turns around. This is useless. "Ok. See you tomorrow. If you can wake up." As he reaches for the door he hears a slight stirring.

"First soldier down."

Startled he turns to David again. "What?"

"That's what Joss put in the script. First soldier down."

The older man stays silent, waiting for him to continue.

"First fucking soldier down. The big hero. Dying to save the world. Not so heroic in real life, was he?” David takes another gulp from the bottle, then glares at the remaining drops. “The fucking bastard. A loser and a coward."

Stop. Rewind. Play.

"David..." He longs to reach out his hand and stroke the furrow off his friend’s brow, but something holds him back.

"That's why they had to let him go, you know. Not that I can blame them.” Shifting David kicks off his shoes, revealing pink and green striped socks, then starts peeling them off as well. “I tried to help him, I really did. He just pushed me away, said he could take care of himself. Well, look where that got him. Fucking shithead." Frowning he shakes the last drops from the bottle, catching them with his outstretched tongue.

"Dave, you can't blame yourself for any of that."

"Can't I? I gave up. I got pissed at him and told him to have it his way.” This time he lets the tape run it’s course and soon the image on the screen is replaced by flickering snow. Irritated he shuts off the white noise, and tosses the remote along with his glasses on the table. “Stopped calling. Stopped checking up on him. And then he fucking died. He fucking died, man." He finally raises his head, a look of desperation on his face.

James doesn't care anymore about hidden agendas or guarding his heart. He just slides down on the couch and puts his arm around the sagging shoulders. Removing the dangling bottle and placing it on the table, he pulls the big man toward him.

"I know. I know." And he strokes away a trickle of tears, rolling down his friend’s cheeks.

That's all it takes for David to at last break down. His body shakes with heavy sobs and James can feel his shirt dampening as the broken man presses his face against his chest, trying to hide or just muffle the sounds.

While he's running his fingers through the soft hair, he can't help noticing the heat radiating from the strong body pressed against his, violent sorrow making it almost feverish. It feels so good finally having the man this close but at the same time it shames him that he's taking pleasure from his friend's misery. So he turns off his feelings, once again, concentrating on giving comfort, not receiving it. That’s what friends are for, right?

After what feels like forever the shaking slows down, finally coming to a halt. But still David holds on and still James keeps stroking his hair. After a while the hitched breathing settles to an even rhythm and the heavy body goes slack against his. Confident that the broken man has fallen asleep, he drops a kiss on the lowered head. If he lingers just a little bit longer than he should, who’s to see? Inhaling the spicy smell of herbal shampoo he rests his cheek tenderly on David’s head.

“Feels nice.”

The voice makes him jump and whip his now scented cheek away. Panicking he tries to rise up but David holds on to him and in the end he goes still, holding his breath for a moment before speaking.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I thought you were asleep. Not that that’s an excuse.”

“I didn’t mind.” David shifts and looks up, red-tinted eyes trying hard to focus on the man above him. “You know, you really are pretty.”

“Ok, I think _that_ was my cue to go.” Again James tries to escape but is pinned down when David once again shifts, now lying with his head in the older man’s lap, staring up at him.

“Don’t go. No going of any kind. Please?” And he looks so adorable that James can’t help thinking he might no longer be the King of Pout. Smiling nervously he settles down again.

“All right, stop with the puppy eyes then. And since when do you speak like Xander Harris?” He reaches for a bottle of water, lying knocked over on the table. The pressure of David’s head on his crotch is making his mouth so very, very dry.

“I don’t… I did?” The giggles seem a clear sign that the grief has finally succumbed to the generous amount of alcohol. “Maybe I should take a break from my Buffy-marathon.”

“You are joking, right?” The brunet shakes his head, a mischievous smile spreading on his face. “ _You’ve_ been having a Buffy marathon? I thought you had enough with your own show.”

“I don’t watch _my_ show. I know what _I_ look like.” The indignant glare almost makes James giggle, like he’s the drunk one.

“So you’ve been studying Nick? Anything I should know?” Ok, should not have said that. Stepping into dangerous territory here.

“Yeah right! Like I would.” Again that naughty smile, as he looks up and winks. “Anyway, he’s not the one who keeps showing his tushy.”

The small sip of water sprays all over the table as James chokes on it. It takes him a while to get his breath back, not made easier by the grin on David’s face as he wipes some drops of water from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’ve been watching my… _tushy_?

“Well… your face isn’t the only part of you that’s pretty.”

For a moment James stares at him, not quite sure how to react. Are they just fooling around or are they ‘fooling around’? The handsome face that turns and breathes hot whiskey breath on his hardening bulge pretty much answers that question.

“Ehem… David? What are you doing?”

“I’d thought that was rather obvious, pretty, pretty man.”

Unsteady hands start fumbling with the buttons on James’ jeans and damn if it isn’t the most erotic sight he’s ever seen. And so horribly pitiful. Fuck! He can’t believe this. He’s finally got the man he’s been lusting after for months - no years - practically kneeling at his feet, drooling over his hot body. And he knows there is no way he’ll let this happen. Not like this. Not when David is obviously too drunk to have any idea what he’s doing. Not when come tomorrow he will hate himself and blame James for taking advantage of his weakened state. And he would be totally right. Closing his eyes for a second, the blond takes a deep breath to steady his nerves.

“David? Dave? We can’t do this. You have to stop.” Gently he removes the big hands from his crotch, and pulls them, sweaty and trembling to his chest. The smile melts away from his friend’s face, brow furrowing and finally settling on a look of sadness and rejection.

“You don’t want me?” His voice sounds broken, like a little boy that’s been told he is not ‘needed’ on the football team. It takes all of James’ strength not to take that sad face in his palms and kiss the sorrow away. Instead he helps him to sit up, David’s hands still clutched in his own. The big man stares down at the junction of fingers, tears prickling his eyes.

“Look at me. Please. _Please._ ” The soft pleading finally makes him look up and James’ blue eyes hold his brown ones that shine with a tenderness and longing the older man never thought he’d see there.

“We can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.” He hesitates, afraid to let on to his feelings, before continuing. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you’re sober, if you still feel this way, I’ll show you just how much I want you.”

“But I…”

“Dave, you’re too drunk. Don’t ask me to take advantage of you.” Damn, his voice is trembling. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. Please?”

He can feel tears threatening to fall and he just hopes they are not showing too clearly. Because then David might figure it all out. And no matter how tempting this whole situation is to him, he knows that to David this is a drunken fantasy. A fantasy he would never give in to if he were thinking straight. Chances are he won’t even remember this in the morning. God, he hopes so.

For a while they gaze at each other, no further then a breath apart. The air is becoming hot and humid. It’s now quite dark outside and the white flickering light from the TV casts ghostlike shadows on their faces. David’s pupils are large and black and the only sound to be heard is their quickening breathing.

Oh God. He has to stand up and walk away. Like now. Like this second. Why isn’t he moving?

Slowly David licks his lips and before he knows what’s happening James is mimicking the action. As David leans forward James’ brain tries to tell him ‘no, no’, but he remains frozen, fixated on the brown eyes that become a blur as they fill out his vision, finally closing when the warm lips latch onto his.

They taste of whiskey and salty tears, and are soft like velvet. A muffled moan echoes in his ears, but he doesn’t know if it’s his or David’s. When a wet tongue tries to sneak in he opens his mouth, like in trance, welcoming it home. It’s hesitant at first, probing gently, tasting him. But as a second moan is released, and that one obviously comes from James, the tongue grows more confident, more passionate, more demanding.

James can feel his head spinning, like a schoolgirl getting her first French kiss. For a moment everything goes dark and he thinks he’s falling. Only to find out he actually is as strong arms catch him and draw him closer. They have slid down to the floor, kneeling, bodies clinging so tight together that they look like hands clasped in prayer. James can feel David’s hard cock pressing into his, pulsating with need, big hands cupping his ass.

Somewhere in the back of his brain an annoying little voice is telling him to stop this. Remember about not taking advantage and not being hated in the morning? _That_ was a good plan. _This_ is a very bad plan. Hello? But it just feels so fucking good and God, this is what he’s been praying for. Isn’t it?  
So he continues the kiss as the hands move up to slide the leather duster off his shoulders. He even continues it as they slip in between them, popping the buttons on his jeans, and then pushing them down his slim hips. It isn’t until his boxers are being removed that he comes to his senses. Shit! He can’t do this!

“Stop! David! Stop it!” James tries to wriggle free but instead he ends up on his back, crushed by the other man’s weight, fingers still ripping at his remaining clothes. He claws at the intruding hand with his only free one, but his wrist is seized and pinned above his head. Finally he has no other alternative than to bite into the tongue being pushed down his throat.

The body above him freezes, then rolls of him and he’s left panting on the floor, boxers half way down, bruises forming on his skin. Slowly he gets to his feet, pulling up his pants with one hand, steadying himself on the back of the couch with the other. He can’t look at David, just reaches for his duster and pulls it on. He’s about two steps from the door when he hears the quiet sob, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Time stands still. His whole body is trembling, his brain screaming at him to get the hell out of here. Closing his eyes for a second, he takes a deep breath before turning around. David is sitting in the corner, knees drawn up to his chin, arms hugging them tight. Frozen eyes stare at nothing. He is shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face. He seems to feel James’ gaze, because suddenly he looks up and starts hyperventilating. Between sharp intakes of air he whispers like a mantra: ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’.

Before he can reason himself out of it, James is kneeling by his friend’s side, wrapping his arms around the broken figure. He holds him until he finally calms down, then helps him to move over to the couch and lie down, then sits beside him, his left hand clutched painfully in the sweaty palms, until the younger man finally falls asleep. Covering him with a blanket he places a soft kiss on the relaxed brow, then leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. Slowly he walks over to his car, gets in, leans back, and cries for an hour.

The next day they say their lines, go through their respective motions and never once look into each other’s eyes. Again the next day and the next, until Joss takes them aside and tells them to get over whatever feud is between them. And so they do, after all, they are actors.

When they’re told a few weeks later that it is all over, this is the last season, James gets drunk for the first time in years. As he crawls home in the early hours, David is sitting outside his apartment, waiting for him, a look of desperation on his face. Without a single word James unlocks the door and walks in, leaving it open. Half a minute later David closes it behind him as he follows.


End file.
